


Let Me Help

by Lostfadingthoughts



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bottom Castiel (Supernatural), Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Bottom Crowley (Supernatural), Comfort, Destiel - Freeform, Drowley, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Crowley (Supernatural), Smut, Soft Crowley (Supernatural), Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Top Crowley (Supernatural), Top Dean Winchester, Torture, Trauma, more tags may be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:14:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25636390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lostfadingthoughts/pseuds/Lostfadingthoughts
Summary: "I believe Dean is in a bad way." Crowley spoke softly, afraid Dean may hear him from the other room. Sam and Castiel looked on between the demon and the doorway to the communal showers."What does that mean?" Sam asked, concern and anger written all over his face.Crowley didn't have to look at the angel, he knew Cas knew what he meant. He probably had for a while, but Sam kept staring at him, unsure and so scared for Crowley's answer."I'm afraid they may have...taken certain liberties..." It felt strange to say it, forbidden as the act itself, but it was all Crowley could muster, his own throat tightening around the words."What?" Same was utter horrified. "What?" He asked again, his voice louder, shaking as the words fell past his lips. "Oh my god..." He turned around, the stone in his stomach that had slowly been forming now weighing him down with nausea and regret.If only they had rescued him sooner.
Relationships: Castiel/Crowley/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Crowley (Supernatural)/Dean Winchester
Comments: 14
Kudos: 70
Collections: Destiel





	1. Help Him

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! Welcome! I've been binging the show alot lately while working from home and it's once again sparked an interest to write! I don't really have an ending in sight but I do plan to make this a long fic. I haven't decided where in the seasons this takes place so for now it's up in the air.
> 
> This chapter and possibly the next are one of the darkest for this fic so please do not read this if any of the tags are disturbing or triggering. 
> 
> I'd love to hear from you guys in the comments, constructive criticism is always good to hear!

It was always the cases that involved just plain humans that seemed to throw Dean and Sam off their game. Give them a vampire or a shapeshifter any day of the week. Even if there was an imminent threat of death, they knew how to figure their way out of a sticky situation.

When it turned out to not be a monster, definitive of having fangs or some other-worldly attachment, but instead a despicable poor excuse of a human, the job suddenly became that much more difficult to work.

What Sam and Dean thought at first to be a vampire attack, were in fact the crazed musings of a human who drained the victims of their blood. They left marks along the body to suggest shoddy work, infected knife wounds and poorly handled needle injections. There were even cuts made after the victim had passed on, cuts made to look like religious symbols, but they weren’t any the boys could recognize.

They had worked the case anyhow because how could they leave knowing that people were still being murdered? They found some leads, trying to track the deranged person, but when the leads dried up on the second day, Sam and Dean decided to take a break and get some much needed sleep. They’d be fresh and awake for more investigating in the morning. 

The first sounds Sam heard that startled him from his sleep were of glass breaking. He’d shot up in bed, whipping his head around to scan the room for anything, anyone, his hand and gun already posed and ready to shoot.

He noticed the broken window first and that Dean was missing second. The door to the hotel room they’d been occupying was wide open. It was probably how the perpetrator entered, exiting pretty violently through the window.

There was blood on the sill of the window, on the broken glass that lay on the sidewalk outside. Sam wasn’t sure if it could have been Dean’s or whoever took him. His next question would be, why only take Dean? Why leave Sam alone, alive?

Panic began to set, heat rising up from the pit in his stomach. Beyond the broken glass, there was no other indication of any transport that would help facilitate the getaway. Sam was all alone and Dean was missing.

* * *

Dean’s head was killing him, throbbing away as if he were at a concert and standing right next to the speaker. His mouth was dry and his face was drenched in sweat. His arms were bound above his head, each hand in their own dirty shackle looped around a large beam. His eyes burned but he opened them any way to survey the room. 

It was a small one, decrepit and falling apart. Wallpaper peeled from the walls, flooring tiles curling at their edges. There was a single door in front of him and upon peering over his shoulder, Dean could see a broken bed, a disgusting old carpet on the floor beneath it and a nightstand that had been turned over. 

Dean stood in the middle of this room, held up only by his bound wrists. His legs were shaking beneath him, his vision swimming in mini circles. He was so dizzy that he wanted to sit down but instead Dean shut his eyes again and waited for the nausea to dissipate. 

The room smelled old, the air funky and close. The only light source came from a tiny night light plugged into the wall and whatever the moon could provide from the single window above the bed. 

When Dean felt confident enough to open his eyes, he tried his best to lean as far as he could to see out the window. He couldn’t see the street and guessed he must have been on the second floor. There was no lamp light coming from outside so again he assumed this house must not be in a neighborhood.

He could be anywhere but Dean assumed the country, far away from any busy streets. It was quiet enough, the crickets chirping an uninterrupted melody outside. He was probably too far for Sam to find him quickly, or even at all. No, this time Dean knew the threat was truly real. 

The door to the room burst open and Dean flinched at the sudden noise. He squinted at the rapid in pour of light from the hallway, the silhouetted figure standing in the doorway. It painted a very ominous picture for the hunter. 

Dean’s throat was too dry to articulate properly. He wanted to ask what was going on but all that came out was a hushed, half voiced “what”. He must have been here longer than he thought, thinking he’d only just been taken. It must have been days and Dean must have been dehydrated. 

The figure came forward into the room, shutting the door behind them with their foot. Dean could see it was a man, an older looking man and one who quite distinctly looked like the man he and Sam had been looking for. A loose sketch of the man was pinned on the board back at the sheriff’s station, drawn from a description given by a homeless man the local sheriffs hadn’t pinned much belief in in the first place. 

Sam and Dean had believed him though, following that lead until the homeless man turned up dead six hours after giving the description. His throat had been cut and he’d stuffed into an alley between two dumpsters. It was this that made them think their target was human and not an actual monster. 

Silently, the man stepped forward, kneeling beside Dean with a bucket. He stood, brandishing a small knife, stained and rusting on the edges. “You’re lucky, boy.” He spoke, his voice deep and rugged, aged with time. It matched with his wrinkles, graying hair and decaying muscle mass. 

Dean wanted to speak, but he couldn’t muster up a response. He’d been scared before, sure, but the normal defense mechanism inside of him telling him to spit a snarky remark or sarcastic comment died within his throat. His heart was hammering in his chest, his head continued to throb and his eyes became even more strained and scratchy. 

“You’re the start of something special.” The man spoke again, taking his knife and sliding it slowly across Dean’s forearm.

Dean could barely struggle, tired and weak, but he grunted between gritted teeth and stared daggers at the man. Blood began to slowly seep down his arm, dripping from his elbow to the bucket sitting beneath him. 

Laughing, the mystery man stood back to admire his shoddy work. “I have to say, I think you’ll be a great addition to the family.” 

Already Dean could feel his arm tingle, the tips of his fingers buzzing at the loss of blood flow. His vision began to swim again, the room spinning. He felt tired, but he tried his best to lick his lips and clear his throat. “Wh-at are you doing?” He whispered, his voice shaky and breathless.

“I’m cleansing you dear boy, cleansing you of the world from the outside. Its dirt and grime has found its way into your blood.” He laughed again, stepping forward to taunt Dean with his knife. “I am giving you a gift. Soon you’ll see I’m right.” 

The man turned then and made his way to the door. He opened it, stepping out into the lit hallway. Before he closed the door behind him, he peered over his shoulder back at Dean. “That is, if you’re worthy enough to survive it.”

* * *

“I don’t know what happened Cas, I woke up and Dean was gone!” Sam couldn’t have been yelling any louder than he was, but he didn’t care. Castiel was busy asking questions, trying to play catch up when all Sam could think was why weren’t they already out there looking for his brother? 

Sam had called him minutes after discovering Dean was gone and Castiel had hightailed it to the motel. It took half a day, an extremely agonizing half of a day where Sam couldn’t do much else then stick around the building. 

He’d wanted to barrel out of the room, jump start the impala and race down any road ahead to find Dean, but after Castiel spent minutes telling Sam over and over that if he left without backup and somehow got lost or taken, Castiel wouldn’t have been able to help. 

So Sam waited. At first he left the room only to walk down to the front desk. He’d told the manager about the break in, leaving the abduction of his brother out of it. When the manager mentioned calling the cops, Sam pulled out his badge and said, “I am the cops.” before asking to see any camera footage the hotel had to offer. 

The only thing he’d been able to see was a white, unmarked van pulling in and out of a spot a few doors down from his room. From the angle of the camera he couldn’t make out any of the license plate and the two people who exited the vehicle were covered head to toe in black swathes of clothing. 

He watched as they walked down to his room, as they picked the lock and slowly opened the door. 

Sam wondered why he didn’t hear any of this. Dean and him had always been light sleepers. You weren’t much of a hunter if you slept like the dead. He watched as they entered the room but beyond what the camera saw, he didn’t see the two figures until one had flown through the window, Dean trailing behind trapped in a vice grip. 

He watched them struggle, the second figure bolting out of the opened door, running towards the van. He’d swung open the sliding door and came back to help his comrade get Dean under control. 

There was no sound to the video but he could see Dean yelling as he thrashed around, trying his damnedest to get his attackers off of him. Dean pulled a switchblade from his pocket and tried to swipe at one of them, but the other figure pushed Dean, the blade flipping back and cutting one of the assailants before smacking against the ground. 

San watched in horror as one figure punched Dean so hard in the face that it sent the seasoned hunter to the ground, knocked out cold. The two grabbed Dean and dragged him to the van, shutting the door and abruptly hopping in the front cab. They didn’t take too long before pulling out as silently as they had pulled in and then Dean was gone. 

Dean was gone and Sam was there and suddenly the world seemed so much bigger, so much more lonely and confusing. 

Sam thanked the manager and left back to his room, stopping along the way to knock on doors, to question the surrounding rooms for any bit of evidence he could find. 

When he turned up with nothing from the sketchy or hungover neighbors, Sam went back to his room to wait for Cas. 

Moving about the room, Castiel surveyed the damage. Beyond the window being broken, there wasn’t much else but a lamp overturned and a bible flung along the ground. He walked around Dean’s bed, not finding much but ruffled sheets and a squished pillow. He was about to walk back to the window when something small caught his eye from under Sam’s bed. 

Reaching down, Castiel pulled out a syringe, full of a suspicious looking clear liquid. “Sam.” He called, watching as the hunter spun around from wherever he was looking. 

Sam took two long strides and grabbed the syringe from the angel. “What the hell?” 

“My best guess is that they tried to drug you and were interrupted when Dean woke up. You must not have gotten the full dose.”

“That’s why I didn’t wake up…” Sam trailed off, walking over to the small table and chairs usually allotted in every motel. He sat down heavily on the wooden chair, laying the syringe on the table. “I don’t understand, why didn’t they come back to get me? They had Dean out cold and then they just left.” He sighed, running his hands over his face. 

Castiel came to his side, laying a comforting hand upon Sam’s tense shoulder. “We’ll find him, Sam. Let’s keep looking.”

* * *

Dean wasn’t sure how long he’d been in this room. He couldn’t even land a single guess. Time was just as existent as it was non in this room. At one point he woke during daylight hours but then the next time he opened his eyes it was dark and he wasn’t sure how many days had passed. 

For a moment he wondered how he was lasting for so long, not having seen any meals brought to him, but on one particularly hot day, the room swelling with damp heat, his captor came into the room, holding what appeared to be an IV bag attached to a pole with wheels. 

Dean watched silently as the man attached a needle to his arm, taping over it with hospital grade tape. He could see other holes, older and crusted over. The pole was shiny and the bag full of clear liquid gave off a clean smell. These items were newly acquired, not like that dirty knife he’d been cut with. 

It had been a while since his cut had clot, the blood drying against his arm. The bucket had been replaced at some point and the new one had been empty for a good time. 

Dean’s mouth was dry, his lips cracked, and his throat felt stuffy and thick. They’d been ingesting him with fluids instead of feeding him.

His muscles ached, his arms were almost completely numb, and his shoulders pained at the slightest of movement. His legs were shaking, teetering on the edge of giving out beneath him, but Dean would hold on. He would hold on for as long as he could for Sammy to find him. 

When he awoke again, the sun was still down, the IV bag and pole gone. He felt a semblance of something better. His joints didn’t hurt just as much as before and the quivering feeling of nausea in his stomach had dulled to a mere hunger pang. 

Whatever had been in that IV had given him strength enough to endure a while longer. For the first time in days, Dean’s head wasn’t a garbled mess of dehydration mixed with confusion. He could reach out to Cas now, pray to him to come and get him. 

He thought of his pleas and sent them out into the ether, hoping upon hope that Cas heard him, that by some miracle he could possibly hear the angel respond. Nothing followed but silence. 

Dean heard footsteps outside the door and his eyes began to well up with tears. He was dirty, grimy, smelly and tired, but with the extra oomph of the IV bag, he could at least cry and unburden himself a slight bit. 

The door opened and the familiar man stepped through, rusty knife in hand. He stopped short of Dean and watched him through careful glances. “What’s your name boy?”

When Dean didn’t answer, the man grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt, giving him a sharp yank. Dean cried out, his wrists on fire with pain from the shackles. “It’s Dean!” He yelled, his voice harsh and gruff from being unused for so long. 

“Well Dean, you’re doing much better than all the rest.” The man walked in a slow circle around him. “You’ve managed to last a good week. I’ve learned that to do it right, it must take time. I must be patient with you Dean.” 

He rounded on Dean again, brandishing the knife towards him, causing Dean to flinch in retreat and wince in the pain that followed from the minute gesture. 

“I will cleanse you. I will rid you of the burden of the outside. I will give you my blood so that you may be reborn, so that you may help cleanse the world.”

Dean let his head fall forward, his eyes shut tight. He’d already been there a week but it felt so much longer. 

A week, and Sam and Cas were nowhere to be found, or rather Dean was nowhere to be found. He seemed to have dropped off the map, falling into a void that the world did not recognize. 

He was elsewhere in the nowhere place, far from existence and substance. He tried, Dean tried, to hold on to hope but it was slipping quickly from his cold, numb fingertips, breaking apart like dust that traveled to the beyond. 

Dean couldn’t stop the tears falling down his face. He was so tired, so much in pain that he didn’t know how much longer he could hold on. How much longer could he pray to Cas and hope he’d hear him, come bustling in to save the day. But alas, there was no Cas and Dean was utterly alone. 

He whispered something then, nothing particularly important, his mumbling low and inaudible. 

“What? What was that?” The man leaned forward, closer to Dean, to try and hear what he had to say. When Dean mumbled something again, he leaned in closer, so close that his ear was practically brushing against Dean’s lips. 

It happened in a flash and before the man could properly react, blood gushed upon Dean’s face, upon his mouth and the ear his teeth were holding. The man screamed and dropped his knife, bringing his hands up to cup the hole where his ear once sat. 

Blood was busy running it’s way down the man, down his neck and shoulders and arms and hands. It gushed warm and thick and Dean didn’t mind it coating parts of his own body. It was a small victory to see the other in pain, to spill the blood that seemed so precious to this crazy man. 

Dean spat the ear out onto the floor, the screams of the man fizzing out as he scrambled to press a cloth he’d found on the floor upon the open wound. 

Someone else was running up the stairs, two male figures bursting into the room to access the situation. Both seemed shocked at first before one’s attention turned toward Dean’s captor and the other’s turned toward Dean. 

Laughing at the sight, Dean watched as the hulking man stalked towards him. He lifted his head high and smiled, blooding running down his chin. “He really loved hearing the sound of his own v-auch!”

A swift punch to the face quickly shut Dean up. He could feel blood start to slowly ebb its way out from his nose and down over his lips, mixing with the blood on his chin and neck. Dean coughed and thought about saying something else but another punch to his body knocked all coherent thought out of his mind. 

He wasn’t sure how many hits to the gut or face or chest there had been but there were many, so many that Dean couldn’t think of a place that wouldn’t be covered in bruises. Blood pounded so loudly in his ears he couldn’t hear anything until the punching finally stopped. 

“Stop it! You’ll kill him.”

“But-”

“Get him out of the chains.”

Dean could feel the men crowd around him, standing close enough to catch him once one had undone the shackles above his head. His arms couldn’t work properly and his legs instantly gave out from the newly added weight of gravity. He didn’t mind so much being caught, afraid that the pain he was currently feeling would be ten times worse if he’d collided with the floor below.

Once again Dean felt his energy leaving him, exhaustion taking over. He shook his head, trying to stay awake, trying to stay aware. He could feel himself being dragged away from the center of the room, could feel his body being flung onto the broken bed that had sat behind him. He couldn’t seem to move a muscle so the others in the room did the moving for him. 

He could feel weight being added to the mattress. 

Opening his eyes as fast he could, Dean’s blurry vision swam before him of the earless wonder climbing onto the bed. His shoulders ached. He wanted to bring his hands up so he tried his hardest to lift them. They floated inches from the mattress before falling back down, his arms shaking. He tried again but the pain was too great. 

Dean cried out as he willed his muscles to move, his legs, his arms, anything, but the man was already busy ripping the fabric of Dean’s pants. The sound was loud, ringing in his ears as he started to panic. He tried again to move and this time mustered enough strength to wriggle his legs, his hands coming up to grab and scratch at the man’s wrists. 

“No-no…” Dean whispered, his throat raw and his head aching something awful. 

Easily smacking Dean’s hands away, the man grinned. “I’m going to punish you Dean. You won’t be tempted to try that again any time soon once I’m finished with you. I will cleanse you body and soul if I have to.”

Tears came to him quickly, building and cresting and falling, smearing the dirt and grime and blood on Dean’s face, down his neck and onto the mattress beneath him. 

He wanted to scream but all he could do was struggle and grunt. He tried again to kick at anything he could but before he knew it, something hit him in the side of the head and then he saw, heard, and felt nothing but utter darkness.

* * *

It was more of a reflex really, when rage suddenly overtook Castiel. 

He’d promptly upturned a nightstand, the lamp flying across the room and shattering against the wall. Sam came running from the bathroom, panic, fear and adrenaline pumping through his veins. When he saw the damage done by the angel, Sam instantly went to his friend’s side.

“Cas, what’s wrong?” He asked urgently, concerned to see Castiel suddenly so violent.

As if he’d just done some strenuous activity, Cas reeled on Sam, his teeth grinding on each other as each breath came out hot and heavy. 

“I can hear him Sam, I can hear him calling to me and there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t sense him, I-”

“Cas, Cas, hey hey I know.” Sam tried his best to quell the angry angel, placing his hands on the other’s shoulders. 

Castiel shrugged him off and began to pace the room. “He’s in so much pain, Sam. I..I..” He began to trail off, his mind buzzing with too many thoughts to put into order. Tears came unbidden to his eyes as he stopped walking. After a moment of silence, Cas sighed and wiped at his face. “We are no closer to finding him but I keep hearing him and-”

Sam couldn’t begin to understand what Cas was feeling. It wasn’t like he could feel Dean. The only way he knew his brother was still alive was that Cas had his angelic link to hearing Dean’s prayers. 

It had been two weeks and Cas had nothing new to report except the horrific knowledge that Dean was in pain more than not the longer he was kept wherever he was. 

For the first couple of days after the abduction, Cas and Sam had stuck around the town they’d been investigating. They tried every lead they could think of, questioned and re-questioned anyone who would listen. 

Beyond the camera picking up the two mystery figures and their unmarked van, any information dried up. The bodies of the previous victims were already moving down the pipeline to be buried or cremated per the family's’ wishes. 

It was at the end of the first week that Cas began to hear Dean more often, felt the pain in his prayers, and knew that things had escalated. 

When they decided to pack up and leave the town, it tore Sam’s heart in two. There didn’t seem to be much else left here but they couldn’t give up. Instead of leaving to the bunker, Sam and Cas climbed into the impala and set on down the road to any surrounding towns, hoping that somewhere else may have the answer to this grand mystery.

Sam placed another reassuring hand upon the angel’s shoulder. “I know, Cas. I know.” Sam sighed. “Whatever has happened to him, he’s still alive and we will help him deal with it when we find him.” 

Cas looked up at the tall hunter, tears brimming once again. “Sam, he’s praying for death.”

For a moment Sam forgot what existing felt like. His breath hitched in his throat as his heart skipped a beat, but in that moment he remembered something and an idea struck him. “Death…” He whispered, coming to a realization. “Death.”


	2. Save Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has never taken me so quickly to follow up with a chapter so shortly after posting the first one but this idea is hitting me hard and I'm hitting the keyboard just as fast. 
> 
> Be sure to leave kudos if you liked it and comment if you'd like to discuss the fic! :3

Dean no longer needed to be chained in the middle of the room. His shackles had been transferred to one of the metal poles on the baseboard and allowed him the freedom to lay on the broken bed or sit beside it on the floor. Most days he just laid on the mattress, melting into the fabric and box springs underneath.

Time had passed through physical markers for Dean. He could feel his facial hair growing, unkempt and patchy, but he could tell from that alone that he was here longer then he should have been. The grime and dirt that stuck to his body was layered with new muck each time he opened his eyes. The first cut on his arm, along with the second and third were crusted over and turning a strange color.

Dean could smell the rotting flesh in the air around him, could feel the stiffness in his joints and muscles. If he survived long enough to pass this ‘test’, he may well die of blood sickness and infection.

The sun was up this time. Dean awoke in the early morning hours and watched, as best he could, the sunrise from the window above the bed. If he tried he could possibly stand on the bed and reach up to the window to look out, but he had no strength left in his legs.

His hands were practically useless, the skin on his wrists rubbed raw from the shackles. He hadn’t been given any fluids for about a day and a half and already he could feel his skin tighten around his bones, his lips splitting the older cracks and bleeding. 

Dean wished Cas were here. He wished Sammy were here, hell he even wished Crowley was back from the dead. But he was alone, somehow stuck somewhere untrackable. He believed with all his might that Cas would come to save him, come hell or high water, if he could be easily found.

He wondered if something must have happened to them, to Sam. No one mentioned anything about his brother, or rather the other agent who was occupying the same motel room as him. Thinking back to that night over and over, Dean kept trying to play out the events. He remembered waking up abruptly, seeing one of those figures pressing a needle into his brother’s neck. He remembered being angry.

But Dean couldn’t be angry anymore. He couldn’t muster enough strength to feel much of anything at all really. Now he just felt numb, and scared. 

How many situations had he ended up in, being bound and chained to chairs, tables, pillars, where he had managed to get out of it? Whether he managed to break his bonds or be saved, he was still able to walk away. All of those times with monsters who’d rather eat him than fight him and now his downfall would be a human?

Dean would have laughed at the situation had he found anything about it funny. Gunshot to the head, knife to the throat, battle. All these things he wouldn’t mind finding the irony in , but this...this was different. This was hell on earth and if he’d had any extra water in his system, Dean would have cried.

All he could do was hang his head low and shift a little on the bed to find a modicum of comfort. 

The room was hot and clammy as it had been day in and out. Dean’s clothing stuck to him as if they were busy melting and fusing to his skin. It didn’t help with this unbearable heat but Dean endured because what else was there for him to do?

In the day he had to endure, but at night he had to try and survive.

Sometimes it was easier to believe that he deserved what came to him, of the punishment his captor so diligently offered each night since the first. It was easier to accept it and drift away, to let his mind wander to better times. 

Sometimes it was difficult to get to that place when all he could think about was the pain he felt. He could feel the emptiness deep inside his chest, chiseling away as anxiety slipped its way in to make itself a home.

Sometimes Dean prayed for death. 

Sometimes Dean also prayed for Death.

He wondered if Billie could hear him or if she even cared what was happening to him. He knew death could be cruel but he must have meant something to the new Mother of all Reapers, she’d said somewhat before. 

The bed creaked beneath him, weight pressing down upon his legs. 

Dean looked up towards the window to see the sun had set and he’d once again wasted the day away thinking. He didn’t have to tilt his head to see who was climbing over him, but he did so anyway. He didn’t speak, for what was there to say? He was too tired to do anything.

“You’ve been a good boy, Dean.” The man said, his voice nothing but knives in Dean’s ears, stabbing away at his brain and all thought. “I think tomorrow you’ll be ready for phase two.” He drawled on, running his hands along Dean’s legs, up his thighs and straight to the waistband.

He wasted no time in tugging the jeans down.

* * *

Days. It took days for Sam and Cas to reach the bunker. 

At first Sam tried to push his limits, tried to justify that he didn’t need food or sleep or simply just rest from driving all day and night. But when he began to swerve and fall asleep at the wheel, Cas took over and drove the impala, Sam taking the opportunity to sleep a very anxious sleep in the passenger seat. 

They wasted no time running inside, throwing open the bunker doors and not bothering to lock them once inside. No, Sam was too eager to race down the hall to where they kept all their ingredients for summoning spells stacked.

Castiel was busy setting up a space, drawing the sigils needed to complete the spell on one of the tables in the library. 

Sam ran back, arms and hands full. He let the items fall onto the table, placing a bowl in the center of the sigils. He added each ingredient with care while Cas took to lighting the candles, placing them in their own spots.

When they had finished their set up, Sam sighed and raised a match, ready to strike it against the booklet. He looked at Cas then, hoping that this would work. He struck the match and let it fall into the bowl. 

A spark, a tiny fire flared as the ingredients caught aflame. It felt longer than the few minutes time took to pass, but eventually it all paid off.

Billie appeared before the two, her long coat swishing as she turned around to face them. Scythe in hand, she took a step forward, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

For a moment, Sam forgot how to speak. He knew that Death’s job had already hired their replacement. Dean had mentioned that the last time he’d died. It still felt awkward, having had made a deal with her when she was a Reaper, and breaking it by killing her. 

Sam swallowed heavily, watching Death move towards them. “Sam…” she said, her voice holding unasked questions. 

“Dean, he’s in trouble.”

“Isn’t that a given for a Winchester?” She seemed annoyed, but then again who wouldn’t be having been summoned without asking. 

Castiel stepped forward. “He’s been kidnapped. It’s been weeks and we’re no closer to finding him.”

Tilting her head to the side, Billie began to cross slowly in front of the two. “So you need me to track him? Surely you boys have a way to do so.”

Shaking his head, Sam found some resolve from deep down. He cleared his throat, his voice a little less nervous. “We’ve been trying but it’s like he’s fallen off the face of the earth.”

“And how do you know he’s not dead?” She asked, folding her arms across her chest. 

“Is he?”

San, Castiel and Billie turned then at the unexpected voice of Mary Winchester. She’d been standing in the doorway to a hall that led to the shooting range. 

Jack was standing behind her. 

They’d been practicing all morning and hadn’t heard the two enter the bunker. Mary knew they’d be back eventually but even she couldn’t comprehend the swiftness with which Cas traveled. 

She’d wanted to come out and help Sam look for Dean but in the end he convinced her to stay home with Jack, to train him on how to use a gun alongside his powers. They would need all the backup they could get when it finally came time to save Dean. 

Billie looked from Mary to Jack then back to Sam and Castiel. Her and the angel locked eyes for the briefest of seconds before both simultaneously answered, “No.”

Mary’s shoulders fell upon hearing the answer. She’d been too afraid it would have been the opposite. 

“So you can sense he’s still alive? Do you know where he is?” Sam asked, hoping upon hope she’d have some good answers. 

It took her a moment to speak. “No. I only hear him calling to me.”

Frustrated and angry, Sam sat back on the edge of the table. Sighing and running his hands over his face, he tried to cool himself, wanting to yell, throw things, anything to help quell the anger steadily rising. “Then you can’t help.” He stated, his worlds almost as beaten down as him. 

“I may not be able to help find him, but I know someone who can.” She chose her words carefully, watching as everyone in the room perked up. Before Sam or anyone could speak, Billie raised her hand out in front of her, palm facing outwards. “You will owe me one, Sam Winchester. One day, I will summon you.” 

Death closed her hand and the lights in the bunker flickered from one light fixture to another. Everyone looked about them until they stopped, looking back to Billie. She was gone and in her place stood a familiar figure, one they hadn’t seen in a long while. 

“Hello boys…”

* * *

It was quiet in the room, the only sound Dean could hear were of the insects outside. As the day grew hotter, they grew louder and Dean continued to melt away shackled to the bed. 

He’d been promised a- no, no not promised, threatened. He’d been threatened with a phase two to come but when he woke in the middle of the afternoon no one had been to see him. He was still sitting on the floor, resting his back against the bed frame and his head against his arms, when the door creaked open. 

Panic set in again but Dean gave no indication that he would move. He watched as his nameless captor walked quietly over to him. He undid Dean’s shackles, grabbing him by the arms and dragging him to the center of the room. There wasn’t much Dean could do in terms of fighting back. His limbs had become more of a burden to him than anything else. He had almost no strength left.

The man left him to sit on the wooden floor as he walked out of the room. The door stood open and for a moment Dean wondered if the man were coming back at all. Surely he wouldn’t leave Dean alone and unchained with the door to his possible escape open and so close at hand? 

Dean swallowed hard, his throat so dry he had to fight to keep from coughing. Even if that were the case, he wouldn’t get too far. It took all his willpower to just sit up and not collapse on the floor. He wouldn’t be able to stand and walk or run out of that room before someone found him and dragged him back.

Dean’s heart skipped a beat as the man walked back in, the familiar pole and IV hookup trailing behind him.

“One last time, Dean. I need you to be strong for tonight.” The man said ominously, hooking up the needle to Dean’s arm and taping it against his skin. He reached his hand up to run his fingers through Dean’s hair and in that moment the hunter decided to rebel, even just a little. 

Dean shook his head, trying his best to convey that he didn’t want to be touched. The man just laughed and withdrew his touch. 

“You have been good, for that I offer you a treat.”

Wondering what that could mean coming from a man like that, Dean seemed to fold in on himself, scared and anxious by the words themselves.

The man chuckled and patted Dean on the leg, causing Dean to flinch in response. Instead of adding to it, the man simply got up and left the room. He shut the door behind him and locked it with a small click.

It took Dean a moment to realize that his gift was this tiny bit of freedom. His shackles remained chained to the bed but he couldn’t imagine going anywhere in the room beyond where he sat. For a while he remained seated, staring at a spot on the floor. How long until nightfall? How long until phase two? What even was phase two?

His head started to spin less, the tips of his fingers tingling with the rush of fluids entering his system. It wasn’t much but it was enough. Painfully, Dean grabbed hold of the pole to steady himself, pushing himself up to at least his knees. 

He took in a shuddering breath and after a few attempts, managed to hoist himself up to stand. It took a few good minutes before the room stopped spinning before him, but once it had settled, Dean slowly shuffled his way towards the bed, towards the window that sat above it. 

Dean fought the urge to collapse on the mattress. Instead, he took a deep breath and lifted a shaky leg up, trying to find a sturdy position to stand on the broken metal baseboard. When he felt confident enough, he reached upwards to the window seal, his fingers gripping what they could. His arms felt like they were on fire and his legs were shaking, but he had to try.

Pain erupted throughout his body but Dean pushed through. Breathing heavily and gritting his teeth, he made the simple gesture of hoisting himself up to stand on the bed seem easier than it felt. He wanted to quit and sit down but he was there, standing tall enough to be able to peer out of the window.

The glass was warm to the touch though there was no direct sunlight shining in. It had moved above and over the other side of the house by this time of day so Dean could easily see outside.

Below on the ground sat a large white van and a dark, beaten up car. There was a gravel driveway of sorts that led from the house into the forest of trees that sat back a ways. Dean couldn’t see anything beyond them but he could see a lot of dead grass which he assumed circled the entire land around the house. Outside looked just as bad as the rest of the house. Dying and decrepit and falling apart. 

Like he had guessed, he was probably in the middle of nowhere. A place hidden from the rest of the world, a place where no one could hear him scream or cry or-

Dean’s legs began to shake again, any reserve of strength failing him. Reluctantly, he let go of the window seal, using the wall to guide himself down to sit on the bed. He felt tears start to build again, a sign that his body was making good use of the IV fluids. He wondered if he’d ever stop crying, if eventually his body would dry up and suffocate him.

Dean prayed to Death again but eventually he just cried himself to sleep, unspoken pleas dying within his throat.

* * *

“Crowley...you’re alive?”

Sam hadn’t meant to ask in such a feeble manner but he was still shocked that Billie had done something to help. She had brought Crowley back and then promptly left, a promise of debt on her tongue. It took him a minute for his brain to wrap around the idea of the demon being back.

Crowley took a moment to look down at himself, surveying the classy, chic dress clothes he was known for wearing before looking up at the room about him. Everyone had their eyes on him, shock and awe and full of questions. 

Beyond Mary, Crowley could only surmise that the boy standing there with confusion writ all over his face was Jack. He could feel the power emanating from where he stood. “It would appear so.” He said, looking back to Sam.

“What do I owe this-”

“It’s Dean. He’s in trouble.” Cas wasted no time. He didn’t want to spend precious minutes listening to Crowley enjoy his own voice. “Can you find him?”

Perplexed, Crowley shifted his stance. “In trouble? How much trouble can he be in that you lot can’t save him from? It’s not another mark is it?” Back to life within seconds and already Crowley was exhausted with these messy humans.

Sam shook his head, trying to find the words to say. “He’s been taken. It’s been weeks and-”

“I can tell he’s still alive but we can’t seem to track him.” Castiel finished, turning to rummage in his coat. He pulled out a map and laid it out on the table behind him. 

Crowley looked from Sam to the back of Castiel, still a bit confused on the whole situation. Being dead and out of the loop could do that, but he sighed and joined the others at the table. Looking over the map, he waited for Cas to say anything.

“Here.” The angel said, pointing to a spot on the map. 

By now, Mary and Jack had joined the rest of the room. She stood next to her son, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. Jack moved to peer over and around Cas, watching quietly.

“He was taken here.” Sam began. “We’d been called to help solve a case. We thought it was vampires but it turned out to just be a crazy guy. We tried to work it anyway but-”

“Let me guess, you couldn’t find him but he found you?” Crowley surmised, peering down at the map.

“We kept to the surrounding towns but it's as if they just vanished.” Sighing, Sam opened his mouth to speak again but stopped when Crowley placed his own finger on the map.

It sat atop a small town they hadn’t set foot in. It was next on their list but when the idea to summon Death hit them, they had to leave it behind. 

“I did a deal there about ten years ago.” Crowley commented, lifting his hand and tucking it into his coat pocket. “It was a big one too.” 

Brows furrowing, Cas looked at Crowley, his own face a mix of confusion and anger. 

Sighing, Crowley looked around at them all. “It was a mass deal, for the mayor and city officials. I was trying to make my mark as a salesman back then and collecting in a group seemed like a good idea to travel up the corporate ladder faster.”

“What was the deal Crowley?” Cas had no patience, not when he felt they might get somewhere with the demon. 

“Wealth and success for ten years. For ten years their town would be left untouched by the forces of evil that be.” When no one said a word, Crowley sighed again. “It’s warded, the entire town is warded against anything supernatural from entering and messing with their precious success.”

It was as if a train had hit Castiel. He wanted to grab Crowley by the scruff of his coat and simultaneously hug him and throw him against a wall. Instead he did neither, standing still from shock. He looked to Sam who in turn looked to his mother. 

Mary cleared her throat. “Do you think he could be there?”

Shrugging, Crowley pulled out a whistle from his pocket. It was a dog whistle. “There’s no way to know for sure until that deal ends.”

“When does it end?” Sam asked, watching Crowley turn the whistle through his fingers. 

“When I say it does.”

* * *

Night had fallen over the house, darkness filling up the room. 

Dean had woken with a start, new sweat beading on his skin. He looked about the room and took note that he was alone. The wave of panic didn’t dissipate. Instead, his heart began to beat too quickly and suddenly he felt as if he couldn’t breathe. The air was thick around him just as before but something else was there, a feeling of unease. 

Fighting his urge to stay on the bed, Dean pushed himself up. He felt the needle still attached to him but noticed there was no more fluid in the bag. Pulling the needle out, Dean winced, the tape pulling on the skin and hair. It fell to the side of the pole, clinking quietly yet still so loud in the quiet room. 

For a moment Dean wondered if they had all left, leaving him behind to die in the middle of nowhere. Using the pole, he hoisted himself up and off the bed, slowly making his way towards the door. He shuffled his feet quietly, trying to listen for anything outside of the room. He’d left the pole behind and instantly regretted it, his legs beginning to shake.

Make it to the door, he thought. Make it to the door and you’re one step closer to getting out of here. 

He reached the door and leaned against it, trying to lessen the amount of his body weighing on his legs. Pressing his ear to the door, Dean listened for anything outside.

He heard shuffling and mumbling and suddenly his heart was hammering in his ears. The panic climbed, the anxiety paramount. The footsteps were approaching the door so Dean, as quickly as he could, turned and started on his way back to the middle of the room. He collapsed just as the door began to slowly open, a small patch of light illuminating the darkness of the room. 

Three familiar figures stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the light. One raised a lantern and brought it into the room, another wheeled in a second pole with its own bag. It wasn’t filled with clear liquid but with a red substance Dean could only assume was blood. 

He watched as the head honcho walked towards him, every fiber in his being screaming at him to do something, to say anything. All he could do was shake and fold in on himself, and watch.

“After tonight, if you survive the transfer of my glorious, pure blood, you will be the gateway. You will help me convert others, to help them see how dirty the world is. You will be my shining beacon of hope.” The man began to circle Dean, stopping only to put a hand on Dean’s shaking head. 

All Dean wanted to do was rip that hand off, hell rip the entire arm off. But the anger wasn’t enough to push past the fear. He wasn’t entirely sure he would make it beyond tonight. No telling what was in that blood, if it had any diseases, or if his body would reject it and wreak havoc from the inside. By some miracle he did survive, the infection from his open wounds, not to mention all of his torn muscles, would probably kill him anyway. 

He could feel himself rotting from the inside out, but the only thing he could think about was Sam. Sam and his mother and Castiel. If they never found him they would never know if he were dead or not. Dean made a mental note that once he died, he’d find a way for Billie to get a message to them, to tell them he wasn’t suffering anymore.

Dean liked that, the thought of no longer suffering at the hands of this mad man. He prayed that if he were to die that it would be swift. He’d already spent too long surviving through this muck and mud. 

Tears had fallen without Dean realizing. He sniffled and looked up at the man, a laugh bubbling from deep down inside crawled its way to the surface of Dean’s lips. 

“Go to hell.”

“I believe this is where I come in.”

  
  



	3. Heal Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me a bit to write chapter 3 due to work taking up most of my time D; but here it is!
> 
> Don't forget to leave kudos and comment on your way out! :3

Chaos erupted around Dean. 

A sharp tug to his hair sent him crashing to the ground. His face collided with the floor so abruptly that it took him a minute to realize he’d struck an unfortunate nail sticking out of the wood. His head, along with all of his tensing muscles, sent a shock wave of pain throughout his body. 

Crying out and having no chance to catch his breath, Dean felt a hand grab his arm, dragging him towards the door and away from a fight that had broken out above him. He tried to struggle but his vision blurred, blood smearing into his eyes. 

“Enough.” The voice boomed, sending everyone to a sudden halt. Dean fell to the floor again but this time he managed to catch himself. He tried his best to hoist himself up, to see whoever had commanded the entire room to an eerie stillness. 

He heard boots slide and click on the floor in a pattern familiar to him. Dean wiped at his eyes, at his face, trying to clear his vision and see who was standing before him.

Crowley stared at Dean, unable to tear his gaze away from the hunter. He couldn’t believe it was Dean at first. He seemed to have changed in such a short amount of time, but it was Dean. He could see it. He was here and just in arms reach of a rescue.

The sight of Dean looking so weak and feeble on the floor set anger a flame inside Crowley. He had only known anger like this a few times in his life and what usually followed was a bloodbath.

Without a glance to the others in the room, Crowley raised his hand into the air, fingers poised and ready. With a snap, crackle and pop to the men surrounding them, the bodies fell to the floor.

The heavy sounds made Dean flinch but he couldn’t stop looking at the demon before him. He wanted to say something, anything but the shock of seeing Crowley here, and alive, was too much for him to handle.

Instead, tears fell of their own accord and Dean began to tremble.

* * *

“They should be out by now.” Cas mumbled, anxiety climbing higher and higher the longer him and Sam were standing outside.

Crowley had broken the contract he’d made all that time ago. He wasn’t even sure how many days they had left before the warding would fall and the hellhounds took what was his. Waiting it out hadn’t even been an option for the demon. 

It surprised Sam and Cas but they said nothing of it. Crowley performed a simple tracking spell on a map they had lying around and off they went in a flash. They’d left Mary and Jack behind again, but Sam promised he would come back and bring Dean with him.

They managed to find cover by some trees, peering out at the old rickety house they knew for sure Dean was in.

Sam and Cas had wanted to run in guns, and angel power, a-blazing but Crowley offered his demonic abilities once again to quickly get in and get out with Dean in hand. “Back in a flash, boys.” He had said, but that had been a good few minutes and it had them worried Crowley had run into trouble.

Sam sighed. “Alright.” He said, pulling out the gun he had tucked inside his waistband. He tried his best to see any movement outside the house but it was dark and he wasn’t entirely sure if it was clear or not. That didn’t matter however. “Let’s go.” 

He took one step and suddenly the house before them was on fire, caught up in flames in seconds. 

Though it was a good ways away from them, Sam still stepped back in shock, feeling as if his heart just dropped to his stomach. Cas stood next to him, unable to move at all. His throat seemed to tighten and it was suddenly too hard to breathe. 

Before the fear and utter heartbreak could wear off, Crowley and Dean appeared behind them. “Moose.” Crowley spoke, breaking Sam and Cas’ gaze on the burning building.

Sam swung around and there stood Dean. He’d been covered with Crowley’s coat and wasn’t bothering to look at anything but the house falling apart in front of them. 

Dean wrapped his arms around himself, clutching the coat to his body, afraid that if he let it go it would somehow mean this was all a dream.

The house burned before them, structures falling apart, wood cracking loudly as it all fell to ash. 

Dean couldn’t help but cry again. He hadn’t been there that long but it felt like a lifetime. He was so tired he felt like he couldn’t even move a step so instead he let his legs give out and he fell to his knees. He winced in pain but Dean couldn’t stop looking at the house.

The smell of burning wood reached him before he began to feel dizzy. His vision blurred and his head began to pound something awful. Before he could stop himself, Dean sighed heavily and fell forward, ready to collide with the ground. A bleak darkness overtook him and soon he was utterly drowning in nightmares.

* * *

It was difficult for Dean to catch his bearings upon waking up in his own room. For a moment he wasn’t entirely sure of where he was but then all the familiar things came back into view and he knew, he knew he was home. 

He was alone in his room, laying on top of his covers still clad in his grimy clothing, Crowley’s coat still wrapped around him. His room was clean and everything was in its place. 

It made Dean feel like he didn’t fit in the puzzle of this room. 

It took a few painful times to sit up and swing his legs off the side of the bed. He would attempt standing later but for now this would do. Dean knew that if he continued to lay there, he would never get up. He would just waste away.

A soft knock to the door startled Dean. He looked toward it and waited, unsure if he should say something or not. Thankfully he didn’t have to. Sam had cracked it a bit to peek his head inside. When he saw Dean sitting up he tried to smile but it only came across as awkward. 

“You’re awake.” Sam said, moving to open the door a bit more.

Dean’s heart began to race and he opened his mouth to say something, the cracks on his lips reopening and beginning to bleed again. When at first no sound came out, Dean tried his best to clear his throat. All that managed to escape was a very croaked, “Crow-ley.”

It stopped Sam suddenly, not sure that he heard correctly. 

“What?” He asked, his eyes narrowing in concern. 

“Crowley.” Was all Dean said again. His arms were starting to shake as he tried to hold himself up. The wounds felt like tiny fires all along his skin. He was constantly in pain but he had to sit up. 

Nodding and a still a bit confused, Sam left the room, leaving the door open a crack. 

Dean felt a little better, having his door open. He wasn’t sure he’d ever close it again. 

Moments later Crowley stepped inside. He moved to close the door behind him but when he saw Dean’s eyes widen out of fear and dart from the demon to the door, he thought better of it and left it open. 

“Your brother said you wanted to see me?” Crowley was awkward, not sure how to act around Dean. Normally he’d be saying something sassy or mean to throw them off the trail of his rising anxiety. But Dean didn’t look like he could handle that right about now. 

Crowley tried to remember a time when he could be empathetic but those moments were few and far between. Most of them pertained to one hunter in particular so it was a bit easy for him to speak a little more softly towards Dean. 

When Dean didn’t say a word, Crowley took a few steps forward and sat himself down in a chair nearby the bed. He took in the sight of Dean fully, noticing the obvious and assuming the non. “Dean?” He asked, watching as Dean struggled to talk. “You need to let the angel heal you.”

“Do-” Dean’s voice cracked, his throat still dry. It strained him to speak normally so he opted for whispering. He hadn’t meant to sound so weak but a big part of him didn’t care. “Do you think he could heal everything?”

Raising his eyebrows in curiosity, Crowley sat up in the chair, leaning forward. “I’ve never been one to be ‘touched by an angel’ but I hear they do wonders for the body. He’ll heal your wounds, Dean.”

Dean looked down at his feet, a hot wash of shame coming over him. He felt his face turn red and his eyes began to well up with tears yet again. He wondered if he’d ever stop crying. “All of them?” He asked, his mind flashing back to those terrible days and horrible nights. 

It made Crowley stop for a moment. He watched as Dean became entirely someone else for a split second in time, lost in thought as his mind drifted away. “I-yes, I believe so.”

Nodding, Dean continued to look at his feet, his fingers grasping at the coat that still sat on his shoulders.

Crowley hadn’t minded that Dean kept the coat. It seemed to give the hunter a bit of security and at the moment all that was important to the demon was Dean feeling safe. “Why don’t we get you cleaned up and then we’ll see about Castiel healing you.”

Dean breathed a small sigh of relief. A shower seemed pretty nice right about now and it was a small step, one he could easily handle. His body ached and his wounds smelled just as rotten as before, but he hadn’t felt like he was slipping just yet, no, he could hold on for a shower.

He tried to hoist himself up but his legs gave out again. Crowley noticed and after glancing once at the door, he stood and helped Dean to stand. He let the hunter lean on him as he walked them out of the room. 

Sam and Castiel were there, waiting for any answers but Crowley shook his head and they kept their mouths shut.

Castiel’s eyes couldn’t stop roaming Dean’s body. He could see and smell all of the wounds, all of the blood and dirt. His heart skipped a beat, seemingly struck with a sharp pain, as he watched Crowley guide Dean by the shoulders down the hall.

He looked to Sam and saw the familiar concern reflected on the taller man’s face. 

When Crowley and Dean rounded the corner Sam turned to Castiel and sighed. “I should get Mom, she’ll want to see him.”

“Wait.” Cas placed a hand on Sam’s arm. “I don’t think he’ll want to see her like this. Jack’s keeping her company for now, let’s wait and find out what we’re up against.”

“‘What we’re up against?’ Cas, this isn’t a monster we’re fighting.”

“I know that.” It frustrated Castiel sometimes, when he spoke the wrong words. “I mean, we don’t know what’s going on inside Dean’s head and we have to deal with that first.”

Nodding and reluctantly sighing in acquiescence, Sam ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, yeah you’re right.” 

“Let’s just be with Dean now.” 

Sam could see something, hear something in the way Castiel spoke. It was always different when Dean was part of the conversation, but now he could hear fear in his voice, fear and anxiety kept barely at bay.

Sam nodded again. “Yeah.”

* * *

The shower seemed like too much space. Dean knew he needed to get clean but the thought of being alone in the communal showers sent his anxiety through the roof. 

Crowley had walked him inside but he took a step back when they reached a stall. He clutched at the coat around him for security. Never in his life would he associate anything to do with Crowley as safe, but he had saved him, taken him from that horrible place and away from those horrible people. 

“Crowley.” Dean spoke softly. “How are you alive?” 

“Death figured I’d be of help.”

“Do you think she’ll take you back?”

Crowley was silent for a moment, unsure as much as anyone. “I don’t know.” He waited for Dean to make a move towards the shower but when he didn’t do anything, Crowley debated reaching out into the hallway for some extra help.

“One step at a time I guess, take a shower.” Crowley turned to go but he stopped upon feeling a hand on his arm. He turned to see Dean grasping at him.

“Don’t go, please.” His voice didn’t sound like his own and his words surprised him just as much as Crowley. Dean had so many questions, so many things to say but he was still trying to wrap his mind around so much that simple questions, simple requests seemed doable. 

“I‘ll just be outside. Moose and Cas want to have a word with me.” Crowley gently peeled Dean’s hand off his arm and quietly exited the room.

As was predicted, Sam and Castiel had followed them to the showers, standing outside and waiting. Crowley waited a moment until he heard the water come on and once he felt that Dean had started to wash up, he turned to the others and sighed heavily.

"I believe Dean is in a bad way." Crowley spoke softly, afraid Dean may hear him from the other room. Sam and Castiel looked on between the demon and the doorway to the communal showers.

"What does that mean?" Sam asked, concern and anger written all over his face.

Crowley didn't have to look at the angel, he knew Cas knew what he meant. He probably had for a while, but Sam kept staring at him, unsure and so scared for Crowley's answer.

"I'm afraid they may have...taken certain liberties..." It felt strange to say it, forbidden as the act itself, but it was all Crowley could muster, his own throat tightening around the words.

"What?" Same was utterly horrified. "What?" He asked again, his voice louder, shaking as the words fell past his lips. "Oh my god..." He turned around, the stone in his stomach that had slowly been forming now weighing him down with nausea and regret.

If only they had rescued him sooner.

Nobody knew what to say or do but eventually Crowley cleared his throat. “I killed them all, if that helps.”

Sam rounded on him. “Great, now you can leave.” He was so angry, so angry that he wasn’t there to help Dean, to get him out, to rescue him. He hated the fact that Crowley had been the one to bust in there, to kill those crazy people. 

He’d always advocated against killing humans before, unless in self defense, but he knew that if he had been able to get in that house, he would have left no survivors. It should have been him, but instead it was Crowley.

A bit stunned, Crowley fumbled over his words. “I- wha-after everything I did?” 

Sam’s jaw set hard and he stared heavily at the demon. “I don’t care.”

“Sam,” Castiel started, ready to interject.

“You’re brother wants me to stay.” Crowley said, almost purring as he smiled at the tall man.

Sam wanted to punch him. “Get out, Crowley, you’re not a part of this.” His voice rose in volume and once again Castiel tried to interrupt, afraid that if things got too loud, that Dean would hear. 

“A part of this?” Crowley argued. “What, saving him wasn’t enough for you?”

“You were being selfish!”

“What selfish reason could I possibly ha-”

“Enough!” Castiel’s voice boomed in the hallway, pausing the rift Sam and Crowley were making. They both looked toward the angel, Sam angry and Crowley a bit amused. 

The water in the showers turned off and a heavy silence followed. All three looked to the door as Dean emerged, a towel wrapped around his waist. 

He felt exposed, especially since everyone was staring at him. He wanted to cover up because he knew they could see. He knew they saw all the wounds, all the cuts and the needle holes. Dean’s legs began to shake so he rested his shoulder against the door frame. “Crowley stays.” He said to Sam, not sure if he could fully look him in the eye.

They must all know what happened. He could see it in their faces, in the way they stood wanting to be near him but not sure how to act. Dean knew Sam had wanted to hug him the moment they rescued him but he also saw the way Sam held himself back.

Cas stepped forward and Dean almost, almost stepped back. He watched the angel’s hand raise from his side, two fingers ready to press themselves on his flesh. Looking at Crowley, Dean shuffled awkwardly, a bit unsure. When Crowley nodded, Dean let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes.

Hesitant but rest assured, Castiel brought forth his hand to place his fingers gently on Dean’s forehead. He could see Dean tremble lightly and all the anger rushed back tenfold. He wished those men were still alive, if only so he could pay them a visit and kill them all over again. 

Castiel watched as he felt his angelic powers working, taking mere seconds to run their course through his body and into Dean’s. It was a nice feeling of purity to heal a friend, to heal Dean. 

Before them, Dean’s body healed and then there were no more cuts, no more holes in his arms. The shower had washed away the dirt and grime and sweat on his body. For all appearances Dean looked as he always had. Physically that is. There was still a haunting look about him, pain that lingered in the mind and behind the eyes.

Dean opened his eyes, only noticing then that he’d been crying. He could feel the wetness on his face and quickly moved to wipe it away. He tried to smile at Cas, at Sam, but he couldn’t manage to move the muscles in his face.

“Thank you.” He whispered, only half meaning it.

“Well then,” Crowley began from Dean’s side. “Looks like I’m staying. Do I get my own room?”

* * *

It had only been a few days and Sam was already climbing the walls of the bunker. They had no reason to leave it, being fully stocked with food and toiletries. There were no current cases, as Sam, Cas, Mary and Jack all decided to stick around to help with Dean.

There wasn’t much any of them could do however. Neither Sam nor Castiel told Mary what all had transpired with Dean so things between her and her oldest became somewhat strained. Jack too had been held out of the loop, only because Cas didn’t think he’d truly understand the gravity of the situation with Dean’s mental health.

All in all the only distraction anyone seemed to have was that of avoiding Crowley whenever they could.

No one besides Dean wanted him in the bunker. Castiel had questioned him at one point why he didn’t just simply return to Hell to take back the reins of his Kingdom. Crowley merely answered that since dying, he hadn’t really cared about Hell all that much anymore, as if death itself was a wake up call that he was meant for something better.

Castiel hated that Crowley seemed to have found that ‘something better’ in taking care of Dean. He was suspicious to say the least, wondering if any point Crowley would turn on all of them, on Dean, and have some grand scheme playing in the background neither any of them would see coming. 

He spent a lot of his time with Jack, trying to help him catch up with the world as best he could, in hopes that it would quell the rising jealousy inside.

Dean remained in his room mostly. He’d venture out when he figured no one was around, to grab food or a book to read. A couple of times he’d run into his mother, or Sam. He tried his best to converse normally, but his hands would always shake and his face would start to burn and he’d have to suddenly leave the room. 

When he wasn’t in his room, he was busy cataloging items in the dungeon and store room because it was something he felt he could easily control, counting everything and making notes. Crowley would join him then, walking around the room to look at all of the shelves with mild interest. He’d mainly just be in the room to be there for Dean. They didn’t have to say much to each other but no one could argue that Dean was seemingly better when the demon occupied the same space.

For some unfathomable reason, Dean was most comfortable around Crowley and though Castiel hated to admit it, he knew in a part of himself that Dean always did. 

It was late in the evening when Castiel knocked on Dean’s bedroom door. When he heard a muffled reply, he opened the door slowly, afraid he would see Dean and Crowley both occupying the room. Instead he was pleasantly surprised that Dean was alone.

He noticed right away that Dean must have been lost in a deep thought. He wasn’t doing much but sitting on the edge of the bed, looking up at the door and the angel standing in the doorway. 

“Yeah?” Dean asked, his voice flat and expressionless. 

For a moment, Cas forgot he was staring. He cleared his throat. “I thought I’d bring you dinner.”

Dean’s eyes scanned Castiel, roaming from his face, down his arms, to his hands that were bereft of any tray or food. It stirred something inside and Dean puffed air from his nose with a smile. 

When Castiel noticed, he shuffled awkwardly, realizing too late that his excuse to see and talk to Dean was a bit obvious. “Oh uhm-”

“It’s fine, Cas.” 

It was the first time Castiel heard Dean say his name since they’d brought him home. It was strange and though it was Dean’s voice, it didn’t feel much like Dean saying it. “How are you feeling?” It was always a challenge for Cas to be social, even to Sam and Dean. If there wasn’t a big threat to focus on or a deep conversation to have, the angel floundered. 

Dean looked back to his feet. “If I said no, what would you do?”

It was a strange question to hear, for Castiel wasn’t sure how to respond. He sighed, frustrated beyond belief, but he walked into the room nonetheless and took a seat in the chair opposite Dean’s bed. 

“Will you tell me what happened, Dean?” 

Cas was kind and sweet and so nice that it made Dean’s teeth hurt just to hear him speak. He wanted to tell the angel everything, just as he always had, but there was a wall between them now. He didn’t blame Castiel for any of it, but he also couldn’t look him in the eyes either. 

Dean kept his head low. He tried to speak again but nothing came out, so he shook his head instead. 

“Dean,” Castiel began. “I’m so sorry.”

Feeling his throat tighten, Dean stood and wasted no time in heading to the door. “I know, Cas.” He whispered as he left his room behind and took off down the hallway.

Castiel sat back and sighed again, unsure if he should go after him or not. In either way, he couldn’t very well stay in Dean’s room alone. Looking at all the things that lined the walls, or the items that stood in their own places on his desk, it pained him to think that Dean would probably not get out of this one pretty easily. 

It would take time, and Castiel resolved to help as best he could.


End file.
